There’s a special kind of loneliness that comes from trying to fit into rooms that weren’t built for you. You know the ones—where everyone’s speaking a language you almost understand, wearing masks you didn’t get the memo to bring, and performing a script that makes you wonder if you missed rehearsal.
I tried those rooms. I tried fitting in. It was exhausting.
So I did what most stubborn creatives do when the world keeps handing them ill-fitting uniforms and pre-approved scripts.
I burned the damn blueprint.
And I built something of my own.
It didn’t start as a grand vision. More like a small, messy tavern at the edge of the multiverse—a place where the drinks are strong, the conversation is unfiltered, and the regulars are delightfully strange. Over time, that tavern became a podcast, a book series, a livestream, a digital hangout. It grew not because it was polished, but because it was honest.
I didn’t need a million fans. I needed a handful of good ones. People who:
laugh at the same dark jokes,
stay curious about weird stories,
know the value of a well-timed toast,
and can handle a cat burglar with attitude or a villain with a conscience.
So I invited them. One by one.
Not everyone stays, and not everyone gets it—but those who do? They belong, because they choose to.
This isn't a brand. It's a bonfire. You’re welcome to pull up a seat, throw in a story, and warm your hands.
And if you’re still out there searching for your place in someone else’s world?
You might just need to build your own.
I'll save you a chair.
—Travis I. Sivart
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